


A Means to an End

by the_pale_rider



Series: Assassin's Creed Rider!AU [4]
Category: Assassin's Creed, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Rider!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 05:49:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3680316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_pale_rider/pseuds/the_pale_rider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor assists General Putnam at Bunker Hill, seeking John Pitcairn's death. Learning of a threat to Washington's life, he goes to warn him. However, the Commander-in-Chief asks something of Connor that makes him doubt the man's character, and his support for the Patriots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Means to an End

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Connor la justice](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/107514) by CaptainBerunov. 



> So I've reworked this slightly to make it similar to the E3 trailer for Assassin's Creed 3, which is one of my favourites. Plus, I think it suits Rider!Connor really well. And the part with Washington is there to sow the seeds of doubt in Connor's mind about him and the Patriots

As Connor rode up towards the Patriots’ artillery position, he could hear General Putnam booming voice, even over the thunder of the cannons.

“The enemy advances and you tremble. They’ve better numbers, you say. Better weapons. Better training. But I do not fear and neither should you,” gesturing the Patriot soldiers he was addressing. “For what they have in material, they lack in conviction and care. But not us. We have discipline. We have order. And most importantly, we have passion. We believe!” His men cheered. “So maintain vigilance. Conserve your ammo. Ensure a proper line of sight. And above all else, men: do not fire until you see the whites of their eyes!”

Ordering them to their positions amongst raucous applause, he sat on a nearby crate and lit a cigar. Connor approached, a slight smile on his face.

“Well I’ll be damned you did it,” Putnam grunted, teeth clenched round his cigar.

“That was quite a speech.”

“Lies, all of it, I’m afraid. Still, such words have carried us thus far…”

“And what of Pitcairn?”

Getting up, Putnam walked toward the ridge overlooking the British positions. “He’s left Boston as I said he would, and set up camp on Moulton Hill.” He handed Connor a telescope to observe.  


Connor looked through it, spotting Pitcairn up on the opposite hill, on horseback. He was surrounded by Redcoats.

“There’s no good way to get at him – not with that maelstrom brewing down below,” continued Putnam. “I suppose you could circle around a bit, or wait for us to thin their ranks. Why are you after him?”

Connor panned down, spying rank upon rank of British soldiers. The volleys of musket fire they were firing was pining the Patriots down. Nothing could get through. Lowering the telescope, Connor turned to the general.

“His death is a means to an end. But there is no time. I will have to chance a direct approach.”

“That’s twice today you’ve proposed the impossible,” Putnam replied, taking a long draw of his cigar.

“I see no other choice.”

“That’s because you’re as mad as a march are, son.”

“I expect an apology on my return.” Connor turned and left Putnam. Mounting his horse, he rode down into the valley.

\---------------

The weight of fire being laid down by the British was terrifying. Volley after volley, they drove the Patriots back. The mechanical rhythm of their advance made them unstoppable. The only way to stop them was to somehow disrupt it. 

Connor called upon Nemesis as he rode through the Patriot positions. Men called out him, saying his one man charge was suicide. He did not listen. The heat flared within him and he embraced it, letting it engulf him and his mount. Blue flames ignited, burning away his flesh. They spread over his horse, imbuing it with Nemesis’ power. She ran faster, gliding over the rough and uneven ground. He saw the British battalions shift in his direction. They were preparing to fire. He had to time this perfectly. The soldiers raised their rifles. He ducked down, hugging the horse’s left side. He heard the crack of muskets firing and felt several bullets hit his mount. She screamed as she fell. He regretted using her like this. He leapt off her as she fell, landing with a roll and running hard straight towards the British. They were preparing for another volley. He didn’t slow. They raised their muskets and fired again. Obscured by the smoke, he felt three bullets hit him but he didn’t stop. He barely felt them.

As the smoke cleared, he saw the shock and fear on the soldiers’ faces as he emerged. He unslung his tomahawk and unsheathed his Hidden Blade. Running up onto a rock outcrop, he leapt over the first rank, burying his axe in the head of a soldier as he landed. In a whirl of steel, he sliced another’s throat open and hacked into a man’s shoulder. The battalion collapsed, men trying to flee from the burning spirit in their midst. He kept running forward, cleaving and slashing his way up the hill. He was unstoppable. Men fell like wheat before him. He caught a swung rifle butt on his tomahawk and threw his attacker aside. Some managed to fire shots at him but nearly all missed, his devastating charge and appearance shattering their morale.

He soon made it to the top of the hill. He paused, seeking Pitcairn. He spotted him, near the back of the camp, surrounded by Redcoats. Sheathing his weapons, he ran up a cart, unslinging his bow. As he leapt, he drew back, the arrow crackling with blue flames. Loosing at the peak of his jump, the burning arrow shot across the camp, burying itself in the Templar’s left shoulder. Landing in a roll, he dashed through the stunned British ranks, using his bare fists to batter any who tried to stop him. Most fled than risk trying to fight him. 

He slowed his advance as he approached the prone body of Pitcairn. His shot had knocked him from his horse. Dazed, he drew his pistol and fired. Connor didn’t bother to dodge, taking the bullet in his chest without slowing. Tomahawk in hand, he knelt beside his target and brought it down hard on his chest. 

Coughing up blood, Pitcairn struggled to speak. “Why…Why did you do this?”

“To protect Adams and Hancock – and those they serve.” His voice was a harsh rumble, so unlike his own. “You meant to kill them…”

“Kill them? Are you mad?” Pitcairn’s voice was filled with defiance and anger. “I wanted only to parlay. There was so much to discuss. To explain…” He winced, the pain stealing his voice. “But you’ve put an end to that now.”

“If you speak true, then I will carry your last words to them.”

“They must lay down their arms. They must stop this war.”

The flames flared, burning brighter. “Why them and not the Redcoats?”

“Do you not think we asked the same question of the British? These things take time. And it would have succeeded, had you let me play my part.”

“The part of the puppeteer!” Connor replied angrily.

“Better we hold the strings than another,” Pitcairn snapped back.

“No! The strings should be severed. All should be free.”

“And we should live forever on castles in the sky.” Pitcairn laughed weakly. He was fading fast. “You wield your blade like a man, but your mouth like a child. And more will die now because of that…” Then he went limp, finally expiring.

Connor stood, letting the flames flicker and die. Retrieving a letter from Pitcairn’s clothes, he turned and ran into the nearby forest, heading back towards the Patriots.

\---------------

He walked through the camp, seeking Putnam. Soldiers were dashing about, evidently in a rush.

“How dare you sneak up on me like that! Why don’t you just go off there and just help this camp retreat!” He spotted the general berating one of his men. “Don’t ever do that again, do you hear me!” The soldier quickly saluted and left.

“General Putnam,” he announced as he approached.

Putnam turned, hiding his surprise well. “You live!”

“The same cannot be said for Pitcairn.”

“Well done, I suppose. But, how did you manage it? I saw what you did..." Putnam's voice trailed off.

"It matters not, General. I used what abilities I have. Nothing more," Connor replied neutrally. He looked around at the bustle of men and horses. "Are you leaving?"

"Yes, it matters little now. I’m ordering a full retreat,” Putnam replied gruffly. “We have lost too many in exchange for too little. If the Tories want this hill so badly, let them have it. Boston is the true prize.”

“We have a bigger problem.” Connor handed Pitcairn’s letter to the general.

Reading it over, Putnam’s eyes widened in shock. “This can’t be right. It says they plan to murder Washington!”

“I will go to Commander Washington and warn him.”

\---------------

“Connor, I heard what you did at Bunker Hill. General Putman speaks highly of your actions.” George Washington, Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army, said as he welcomed the young Assassin into his tent. 

“I did only what needed to be done. Nothing more.”

Washington smiled. “Always so modest. Truth be told Connor, without your assistance, we would be losing this war. I know you do not a Patriot, and that you have your own reasons for siding with us. But, I’m afraid I must ask more of you.”

Connor narrowed his eyes, forgetting his news. “What do you want?”

“I…Putnam also mentioned certain…things about you. Things he saw and heard at Bunker Hill…”

The Assassin remained silent, his solemn face betraying nothing.

Washington licked his lips. “His report says that you…changed during the battle. That you were nigh unstoppable.”

_“He will ask you about me. Be wary of his intentions.” _Nemesis’ voice whispered in his mind__

“Could you please explain what happened?”

“I do not fully understand it myself, Commander,” Connor replied evenly. “All I know is that I have abilities beyond other men.”

“How did you come to possess such abilities?” Washington pressed him.

“I’ve always had them, since I was a child. I do not know their origin. My mother told that my father had the same abilities.”

“So they can be passed on? Do you think your abilities could be given to some of my men? If what Putnam saw is only half true, we’ll change the course of this war!”

“No, Commander. This power should not be wielded lightly,” Connor replied flatly. 

“But Connor please! You must see…”

“No! I will not,” his normally calm demeanour broken. He felt the heat ignite within him. He did not resist it. Let Washington see the Rider.

Washington stumbled away from the Assassin as crackling blue flames engulfed him. His pale robes did not burn or blacken. His skin was burnt away to reveal the bone beneath but Connor didn’t seem to feel any pain. Flames blazed around his skull like a halo and crept around his fingers. Connor stared at Washington with his burning sockets.

“Well, Commander? Do you still want this power?” His gentle voice was gone, replaced by a harsh growl. He advanced towards the stricken general, flames hissing and spitting.

“You would seek to use this power as a weapon! To help you win your war! It is not a means to your end!”

George Washington, the charismatic figurehead of the Patriots, cowered under the Rider’s fury.

“God no! Please Connor. Forget I said anything! I will not ask again!”

“Very well,” Connor replied. “I will continue to aid you when our aims align, Commander.”

As he turned to leave, the flames guttered and died, leaving Connor whole once more. He left the Commander-in-Chief to think on his choices.

_“He is not what you think. He hides much from you. Your mentor is right not to trust him,” _Nemesis whispered in his mind.__


End file.
